I am grumbling under my breath about counting chickens and such like. After a few weeks of T sleeping 12 hours a night, we have sleeplessness again. Not at night like last time, but first thing in the morning. For the last three days he's woken between 5 and 5.30 am!
There's something about this ungodly hour than undoes any parenting ambition I have. I realised too late (i.e. not before bed last night) that we don't have any milk. Our milkman, who delivers the white stuff fresh from a local farm from a flat-bed truck, arrives sometime between 12 pm and 4 pm, so there wasn't really any point checking the doorstep. T is sitting in front of CBeebies eating dry Cheerios. CBeebies has actually started now, before 6 am he was watching 'This Is CBeebies', a song about numbers and colours on a loop and featuring their best-known characters. I know, I know, I was one of those parents who promised to limit telly before T was born, and here I am hiding behind the laptop and hoping he's entertained for at least another half an hour whilst I come round.
I am hoping the 5.30 am wake-ups are a blip. T comes into bed with me when he wakes, for lying-down milk, which used to persuade him to snuggle in for at least another half an hour, but I don't know if my supply is dipping, or he's starting to self-wean, because it just doesn't cut the mustard any more. He likes his feed, glugs away, but there's no mistaking the sign for 'hungry' he does afterwards, and there's no point trying to persuade a peckish toddler to cuddle up. If nothing else, he can climb out of our bed and make his way to the kitchen himself, and I wouldn't like to guess at what he'd manage to scrabble from the cupboards given open access and a bit of time!
I have an extra day off work tomorrow, meaning my week is only two days long. I have an important meeting on Wednesday and a challenging workshop on Wednesday though. I'm crossing everything he decides to sleep longer by then!